Yidan Han

  Contributing Editor:
  Kyle David Anderson

Yidan Han

绿音, 原名韩怡丹。1967年1月生于福建。在福州度过中、小学时代。1989年毕业于厦门大学新闻系。曾任厦大《采贝诗刊》副主编。2002年赴美留学,获文学创作硕士学位。1985年开始发表诗作。著有诗集《临风而立》(1993)、《绿音诗选》(2004)和《静静地飞翔》(2008)。中、英文诗作散见于《诗刊》《创世纪》《普罗维登斯日报》《科罗拉多评论》等数十种海内外报刊及诗歌选本。主编《诗天空当代华语诗选》双语版(2007)和《诗天空当代美国诗选》双语版(2009)。美国《诗天空》(PoetrySky.com)中英双语季刊创始人及主编。诗作曾在中、美获奖。现居美国新罕布什州。

Yidan Han is the author of three books of poetry, including Standing against the Wind (1993), Selected Poems of Green Voice (2004, bilingual), and Flying in Silence (2008). She is the editor of The PoetrySky Anthology of Contemporary Chinese Poetry, 2005-2006 (2007), The PoetrySky Anthology of Contemporary American Poetry 2005-2008 (2009), and a coauthor of five academic books that explore classical Chinese poetry. Her Chinese and English poems have appeared in various literary journals and anthologies in China, United States and other countries, including The Providence Journal, Colorado Review, and Poetry Periodical. She is the founder and editor-in-chief of Poetry Sky. She lives in New Hampshire.


Yidan Han


A Winter Tree

风雪之后的傍晚 又一棵枫树倒下来了 它伏在另一棵树上 仿佛进入了梦乡 天空,刹那间翻转了过来 它阴郁不语 仿佛被砸伤 却不想说出伤口的位置 雪的反光里 那些黑色的枫树向天空 举起千手 而这棵倒下的树 依然匍匐在更深的黑暗里 黑暗里有一千条河流 陪它返回故乡


After the snow storm Another maple tree fell down It leaned on another tree as if it had fallen asleep The sky, turned over in an instant Overcast and silent as if it were crushed by the tree But not wanting to reveal its wound In the reflection of the snow those black maples raised thousands of hands to the sky The fallen tree lay still in deeper darkness There are a thousand rivers in the dark to accompany it home


The Grape Hyacinth of May

五月中旬,雨后的 葡萄风信子 仿佛要收起它的忧郁 忧郁的蓝,浅紫的蓝 有时似晨钟暮鼓 有时又如一阵青烟 忧郁可以这样明媚 像春光一泻千里 深沉也可以 摇曳有声 如少女的长裙 今天,它准备把 叮当作响的风铃 藏进它的衣袖 它清晰时 世界是模糊的 现在它开始模糊了 世界却清晰起来 那些枯叶、杂草、断枝 和土地的伤口 都清晰可辨 渐行渐远 这时间的森林里 灰蓝的呼吸


In mid-May, after the rain the grape hyacinth seems to gather its melancholy its brooding blue, light purple blue, sometimes it is like the morning bell or evening drum, and sometimes it is like a puff of smoke. Melancholy can be so bright, like spring, flowing down vigorously. Deepness can also flicker with sound, like a girl's dress. Today, it is ready to hide its jingling bells inside its sleeves. When it is clear, the world is blurry. Now it starts to blur and the world becomes clear. The leaves, weeds, broken branches and the wounds of the land, are clear and distinct. Receding into the forest of time— the traces of its blue breath.

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